Just You and Me
by Lif61
Summary: Dean is awakened in the middle of the night by Sam, who's suffering from his hallucinations and can't tell the difference between reality and the Cage. Alone and frightened, Dean does his best to snap him out of it.


**A/N: Written as a request for shadowpletlove. Originally I was going to write it from Sam's point of view, but I saw this as a great opportunity to explore Dean's emotions. I hope it lives up to your expectations and that you enjoy.**

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Dean was woken by a loud thump. His heart began to pound a little faster, but his instincts didn't warn him of any danger. Maybe it was nothing. He rolled over in his bed to face the one beside him, wondering if Sam had heard the same thing. Sam wasn't there.

"What the hell?" Dean murmured quietly as he pushed the covers off of himself. "Sam?"

No answer.

Then there was more thumping coming from the other side of the bed. Dean rushed over, and fear came to life in him, clenching a tight fist around his stomach. Sam was on the floor, his body twitching spasmodically, and the new sound Dean was hearing was from Sam's arm hitting the side of the bed. Dean wasn't too sure on what to do when someone was having a seizure, but he knew Sam wouldn't appreciate being all banged up when he came out of it, so he straddled his brother, pinning his arms down.

It wasn't easy holding him down. Dean let out a grunt of exertion as he was nearly thrown off. With his eyes adjusted to the dark of the room he could see that Sam's eyes were rolled back in his head, and something dark, probably blood, was beginning to stain his lips. Quiet moans began to leave him, the sound arrhythmic, matching the movements of his shuddering body.

Dean's heart was pounding away so fiercely it hurt, and he began to sweat. Oh god, he just wanted this to _stop_. He wanted Sam to be okay, and he didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help him. He bowed his head, and started begging for this to end.

He lost track of time, his only awareness of the fear that spread out from his gut in a cold, biting wave, and of Sam's suffering. But surely only seconds had passed. Seizures weren't supposed to last that long.

Thankfully, Sam's body relaxed and his brother's eyelids fluttered closed. Dean collapsed off of Sam, trying to catch his breath as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

He got to his knees and leaned over him. Sam's eyes were open now, but he was staring at nothing.

 _Oh god. The hallucinations._

Dean grabbed onto him, gently shaking him. "Hey, Sam! Sam! Sammy, please!" he shouted, in his panic forgetting about the others in the motel rooms beside theirs. "Snap out of it. Come back to me, man." When Sam didn't respond Dean sat back.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Minutes passed like that, with Dean kneeling in the dark, watching over his brother. He felt so alone, so weak, so powerless. Physical injuries he could handle. He knew how to take care of those, but this? This, he didn't know. He had absolutely no idea. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Sammy?" he called out to him again, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

His fingers just barely grazed his skin, and Sam was sitting up, his eyes wide and terrified as he stared at him, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. Dean tried grabbing his brother to steady him, but in return he received a punch in the face that sent him reeling backwards onto the hard floor.

A groan left him, pain exploding in his cheek, and there was a warm liquid too, speaking of the blow having broken his skin.

"I told you not to call me that," Sam spat out, quickly shuffling away from him. When he bumped into the side of the bed, he looked around in a panic.

Dean winced, sitting up, nursing the cut on his face. "Sam, it's me. It's Dean."

A chilling, pained laugh left his brother as he curled his knees up to his chest, hugging them to him. And there he remained.

"Please, Sam. It's Dean, your brother."

But now he didn't respond to him, just sat there.

And then suddenly he was screaming.

Dean rushed towards him, tackling him, trying to get a hand over his mouth. Now Dean thought of the other occupants in the motel and he _really_ didn't want them to wake up. The police would be called, maybe an ambulance, and there'd be no way to explain his brother's afflictions.

Sam struggled against him, his eyes widening. His movements weren't precise like Dean had expected, didn't speak of any fighting experience whatsoever. He thrashed desperately, clearly panicking, and he scrabbled at his hands, his arms, digging his nails in and drawing blood.

Dean grunted, but held his ground.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh…" Dean tried to soothe. "It's okay, Sam. It's okay. I got ya. I got ya"

Still his brother fought against him, his voice continuing to leave him. Oh god, he sounded like he was in so much pain, and though his voice was muffled he was still loud, and Dean begged no one was hearing this. And he just begged that it would stop. It hurt to hear him like this, to hear him suffer, especially when there was nothing he could do.

The screams stopped and tears started flowing down his cheeks. Dean's throat ached at the sight and tears of his own pricked at the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he took his hand away from his mouth, and Sam let him go. He moved back, letting his brother have some space.

A sob shook his shoulders, and Dean watched on, terror still living in his blood.

There was only one thing he could think to do. He sat down across from Sam, and he began to talk:

"I know you don't believe me, you don't think I'm your brother. But I am. You're not in Hell, not in the Cage. You're here, in a motel room, with me. I… I wish there was something I could do, you know?"

He studied Sam, who was sobbing quietly, his head lowered. Through the darkness Dean could see tears dripping off of his face. He took in a deep breath, did his best to ignore that it was shaky, and he went on, "I hate that this is happening to you. I hate that you had to suffer to save the world. I hate all of it, man." His voice cracked on the last word, and Dean swallowed back the lump of emotion in his throat. Still, tears began to blur his vision.

"I don't want you to hurt. I _never_ want you to hurt. Part of me wants to go to Hell myself and find a way to take out Lucifer for even touching you, for..." A sob of his own broke him up, and Dean shook his head.

"I wish it had been me," he admitted.

There was more he wanted to say, more he wanted to express, but he didn't know how to do so. He just hurt so damn much watching his little brother go through this, and he was terrified that he wasn't doing enough, terrified that there would never be an end to this, that Sam would be like this for the rest of their lives.

Silence and darkness encompassed him, and he couldn't help but think back to the nights where dad had left him all alone to look after Sam, where he would stay up and keep watch to make sure nothing would take him, that nothing would hurt him. And now he was doing that again, keeping watch, but this time the enemy wasn't one he could fight. Only Sam could. And it sounded like he was losing.

The silence dragged on, and that struck a chord of fear in Dean. That wasn't right.

He lifted his head up sharply, wiping the tears from his eyes. A desperate, choked gasp met his ears as his eyes made sense of what they were seeing. Sam wasn't breathing.

He had a hand running over his throat, like he was trying to pull at something, but there was nothing.

"Hey, hey, hey, Sam," Dean exclaimed, rushing over to him again. This time Sam didn't attack him, didn't even follow him with his eyes. It was like he wasn't even there. "Sammy, hey. Come on, it's okay. Breathe, okay? Just breathe. No one's hurting you. It's just you and me. Just you and me, okay? I promise." His brother continued to struggle for air. "Breathe, damn it!" he shouted. " _He's not real_ ," Dean insisted. "He's not. I'm real, right _here_ is real."

An idea came to him, and he grabbed at Sam's left hand, which was still wildly clawing at his throat. His brother shivered, and Dean pressed his thumb down against the scar that marred the palm of his hand. Sam tried pulling it back from him, but Dean grabbed his forearm in a firm grip, holding him steady.

" _This_ is real," he told him. " _This_. You got that? Focus on this. Focus on how it feels. Forget about everything else. There's just this."

Agonizingly long seconds passed.

Sam heaved in a gasp of air.

Dean didn't let go, not trusting that this was over yet. And he was right. Sam started trying to pull away from him with more force, a cry leaving him. He kicked, hitting Dean in the stomach, and he fell. Another kick, this time in his side, and Dean rolled out of range.

When he righted himself Sam was looking around again, but his gaze still wasn't right, still wasn't entirely _there_.

But he was breathing again. He was breathing, and that's what mattered.

So Dean settled down across from him once more. This time he didn't speak. He didn't know what else to say to him. Nothing was working.

 _What if he stays stuck this time?_

The thought sent a very real stab of pain through his chest, and Dean groaned quietly.

 _He can't. He just can't._ I _can't. I can't lose him. Not again. Not ever again._

And this time, if he lost him, his presence would still be there, always speaking of how badly Dean had failed. And he'd always have false hope; hope that one day he'd come back to him.

What if he didn't come back to him? What if this was _it_?

Dean hadn't been this afraid since he'd found Sam in the abandoned warehouse with a gun, hadn't felt this small and meaningless.

A strange, growling sound started emanating from Sam's chest, but he didn't move, just sat there. But his muscles were tense, and there were slight twitches going through his body, almost like he was pulling against restraints. The sound coming from his brother was ugly, raw, full of torment and fear and excruciating, unspeakable agony. And it tore at Dean's heart till he wasn't sure he'd have anything left holding him together.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean whispered. "You're gonna be okay."

He didn't believe that. He'd thought that saying it might make it real. But it didn't. Sam was still suffering, he was still _hurting_.

Oh god, it just had to stop. It had to. _It had to._

There was no one for Dean to fight, no wounds for him to tend to, and he feared what would happened if he touched him.

His own wounds were throbbing intently, but he didn't care. Their pain was nothing compared to watching this, to watching his brother be tortured by his own mind, his own soul.

Long minutes passed of the two of them sitting on the floor, and it took all of Dean's strength to hold back his tears, his abdomen convulsing from the effort. Those minutes turned into half an hour, which then turned into an hour. That horrific growling was no longer leaving Sam, but he still didn't move, still didn't speak.

The only sound was his harsh, tormented breathing.

Dean had tried speaking to him a few times, but it never did any good. What was the point of assuring Sam that he was going to be all right? It was clearly a lie, and he doubted he could even hear him.

He all but jumped out of his skin when Sam spoke quietly, his voice infused with poison, " _I hate you._ "

Though Dean knew he wasn't speaking to him, he started crying.

"I hate you," he repeated.

A violent shudder ran through him, and then he was sobbing again, quietly this time.

Dean steeled himself, wiped his own tears away, and then scooted closer to him. Sam looked away from him, swallowing roughly.

"Don't," he warned him, or maybe he was begging. "Please don't."

Dean put a hand on his knee and Sam shivered, his muscles tensing beneath him. Curiously, Dean looked down at his hand, then back up at Sam. Slowly, he withdrew, and then Sam furrowed his brows in confusion.

His eyes met his, and awareness suddenly flooded his hazel gaze.

"Dean?"

Relief washed through Dean so strongly he nearly collapsed. He smiled, taking in a shaky breath.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me."

Instantly his brother's arms were around him, and given the hour he'd just spent on the floor, unsure of whether he might get attacked again, Dean tensed. But Sam just hugged him, burying his head against his shoulder. Dean relaxed his muscles and hugged back. Holding his little brother, feeling him hold him, made warmth spread outwards from his chest, chasing away the cold fear. If it was up to him he'd never let Sam go again, but he didn't have to think about that for now. He wasn't alone. Sam wasn't alone. They had each other. And in that moment he knew it was just the two of them, and that maybe, just maybe Sam was going to be okay.


End file.
